


Time Passed

by LadyArkin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Car Accidents, Hurt John Watson, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4874332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyArkin/pseuds/LadyArkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg wakes up to find that his reflection is older. Everything has changed around him. But now, he finds that he has a family to help him through the rough patches.<br/>Once he starts to reclaim his life he quickly discovers that he may have done something stupid. This may be one rough patch that his spouse can't help him through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Greg woke up with a splitting headache.  
He was laying in a bed with an elevated head. As he looked around he momentarily thought that he was in a hotel. That impression changed when he saw the IV in his arm and the bad taste in his mouth made him wince.  
He sat up. He pulled the IV out of his arm. It bled a little but it was nothing to worry over. He removed the wires and all the sticky pads attached to his skin.  
The moment he got up he felt the cold air enter through the back of his gown. The room rocked a bit and he had to stand there until everything settled.  
The floor was frigidly cold.  
He wandered towards the bathroom. The lights in the small bathroom came on automatically once he stepped over the threshold. He walked right to the sink and turned on the tap. He put his mouth to it. He gulped water down until his belly felt full. It felt good.  
He washed his face.  
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep or what happened to land him in a hospital bed. Whatever it was, he felt the sluggish pain of trauma in his body. He knew that he’d been asleep for a while, long enough that he felt it in his stiff shoulder.  
He stood up to stretch but froze when he saw himself in the mirror. The man looking back at him was older.  
He reached up and removed the bandages wound around his head so that he could get a better look. He unwrapped an older man with bad bruising at his forehead. Even though he couldn’t remember, the damage was proof of an accident of some sort.  
What he couldn’t explain was why he was older. The hair was completely silver except for a slight peppering of black at the left temple. The eyes were more tired. The lines around his eyes were deeper. The laugh lines were more pronounced.  
He walked out of the bathroom leaving the image behind.  
Greg found clothes hanging in the wardrobe. He didn’t know where his off-the-rack-suit, and sensible shoes were. Instead, he found a suit that looked expensive and tailor made. The tie was silk. A pair of handmade leather shoes sat at the bottom of the wardrobe. The coat was dark wool. He recognized none of it.  
He checked inside the coat pockets. He found a pack of gum and a few wrappers. A set of keys that didn’t look like his.  
Next, he checked the suit. It definitely didn’t look off-the-rack. It was his size. On a whim he checked the inside pocket. Inside he found a wallet. He found his identification and credentials. It was his face, if older. The dates were all wrong. They were wrong by ten years. His credentials didn’t identify him as a Detective Inspector. Instead, he was identified as a Detective Chief Inspector.  
For a moment, he thought it was all some kind of a joke. He expected the morons in his office to jump out at any moment. But, they didn’t.  
As he held the wallet, Greg noticed the little bulge on one side of the wallet. He slipped his finger inside the small compartment. It was something hard and cold to the touch. A ring slipped out. It was heavy, black metal with an inlaid strip of pure gold. It was elegant and expensive looking.  
He looked inside the ring. It was inscribed, ‘G & M Eternally.’  
“Megan,” Greg breathed out. “Guess we’re doing well.”  
Greg smiled and slipped the ring on his finger. It fit properly and looked good on his finger.  
He began to dress. He liked the feel of the clothes on his skin. They smelled of cologne. He appreciated it because the hospital smell was in his nose. He bent over to put his pants on and got so dizzy that he almost fell over. He had to sit for his pants, socks, and shoes.  
When he was dressed, he walked out.  
He didn’t see much hospital staff. He walked passed a big desk. There was a nurse asleep at the desk. And then further down, he passed a man in grey scrubs pushing a gurney with a set of ear buds in who didn’t look twice at him.  
Greg took the elevator down and walked out of the hospital. The night was cool enough that he had to pull his coat closed and adjust his collar.  
As he stood there, he suddenly realized that he had no idea where his car was. Was he even driving the same car?  
He saw a taxi. Instantly, he raised his arm and called out. He whistled loudly and it stopped. He started to run. But, it only took a few steps for him to grow dizzy. He couldn’t catch his breath. His chest hurt. He had to work to get enough air moving into his body.  
The taxi was waiting.  
Greg had to walk to it. He was sweating by the time he got into the cab. He had to breath in a few times in order to give the man the address.  
He wasn’t aware of the trip. At first the lights glared to brightly then they seemed to blur. He had to close his eyes. The cabbie woke him. Their arrival was a surprise.  
He paid the cabbie. It was simple enough, he had several hundred in his wallet.  
Greg wandered towards the front door. There were steps. It took effort but he climbed them. When he made it to the door, he took a moment. He pulled his keys out of his pocket but couldn’t remember which opened the door.  
He pressed the door bell and leaned his head on the threshold. It took a few moments, but the door finally opened.  
The door opened to reveal Megan. Older, greyer, but still her.  
“What the bloody hell are you doing here? I told you that I never wanted to see you again you faggot bastard! Get away from my door!”  
Greg stepped back. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.  
“Get away or I’ll call the bloody police on you! I’ll call the press! I’ll tell everyone who’ll listen that I’m being harassed!”  
Her face was twisted, ugly. He could see the hatred.  
“Your bender boyfriend isn’t going to help you once the cameras are rolling! I got a lawyer, yeah! And I’m! Gonna! Sue! I’m getting every penny that’s mine!”  
“Sir!” a deep voice howled out in the night.  
It took him a moment to realize that it was a male voice and that it was coming from behind him somewhere.  
Greg turned.  
He saw a black SUV pull up. Two men ran out.  
“Sir,” a big, dark haired man called out again. “We’re so glad.”  
“I’m gonna sue!”  
The dark haired man turned to Megan and harshly growled, “Get inside you nutter or I’ll taze you again!  
A moment later, the door slammed and Megan was gone.  
Greg finally noticed that the man was some kind of solider. He was armed and had a headset on.  
“I’m so glad that we found you, sir.” The man put his arm around Greg and helped him along. “We sent a detail to the hospital but you were gone. They said you were having memory issues. I sent men in every direction trying to find you.”  
“She’s my wife,” Greg said weakly.  
“No,” the man responded. “You _were_ married. You divorced her. Then-  
“We were separated, but we were working through it in therapy.”  
The man had a strange, sad look on his face. Gently, the man said, “You’ve never shared the details with me, sir. I know that you were divorced. I know she hates you. She’s unstable and blames you for a lot, when she’s not calling you to help her. And when she attacks you, it’s my problem.”  
“Did she put me in the hospital?” Greg asked quite lost.  
“Not this time, sir.”  
They were at the SUV.  
Another man opened the car door for Greg.  
He resisted getting in.  
“Who are you?” Greg asked.  
“Sir, my name is Sorrells. Captain James Sorrells. I’ve been part of your security detail for five years.” The man pointed to the other armed man and said, “That’s Sergeant Anders.” The man turned to him and politely asked, “Will you please allow us to take you home, sir?”  
“If I say no?”  
The man shrugged. “We report in and then we follow you around all night.”  
“Where do I live?”  
“Do you have your wallet, sir?”  
Greg nodded dumbly.  
“Pull it out. You have a driver’s license. We’re taking you there. Unless you want to do back to the hospital?”  
Greg shook his head. He managed to make himself dizzy again. Sorrells saw it and reached for him. Greg was steadied by strong hands.  
“Home,” he said lost and a bit scared.  
“We’ll get you there, sir.”  
Hesitantly, Greg got into the back of the SUV. Captain Sorrells got in next to him. Sergeant Anders took the drivers seat.  
Greg reached for his wallet. His driver’s license was exactly where it should have been, but the address…  
“Stop the car!”  
Greg instantly groaned. At first because yelling out made his head hurt. And a moment later, because Anders hit the breaks hard. The jostle made everything behind his eyes hurt.  
“Sir?” Anders asked.  
“I don’t live there,” Greg said still hurting. “I’m not going.”  
Greg tried to exit the SUV.  
Sorrells quickly grabbed the door handle. “Sir! We can take you somewhere else!”  
“No,” Greg said slowly. “I don’t know you.”  
“Captain,” Anders offered. “We can take him to Baker Street.”  
Sorrells turned to Greg and asked, “Do you remember-  
“Yes. John’s a doctor. He can help me.”  
Sorrells turned to Anders and said, “Drive.”  
Sorrells then started chatting into his headset. He heard the man give their location and destination. He also assured whoever was on the other end that Greg was fine but needed medical attention due to memory loss.  
He sat quietly and felt rather helpless. That feeling of loss and fear remained until he saw something that he recognized. First, a familiar street. Then, businesses. They pulled up to 221B Baker Street. Standing outside was John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. Greg felt a sudden rush of relief.  
John ran to the SUV door and opened it.  
“Greg! Thank God!” John cried. “When we got the call we didn’t know what to do! Have you any idea?”  
Greg stepped out of the SUV. His legs went weak for just a moment. They held him up. He didn’t know how to respond. Sherlock pulled Greg’s arm over his shoulder  
More gently, John said, “Could have been worse. You could have been wandering around without your coat on.”  
“My head hurts,” Greg responded.  
“Upstairs,” Sherlock said. “Once we are upstairs. John shall handle matters.”  
Greg was helped inside and up the stairs.  
“Those lads were intense,” Greg gripped.  
“What do you expect? They’re responsible for your life, and you went walkabout four two hours.”  
“Didn’t mean too.”  
Once they were up the stairs Sherlock helped him inside as John went ahead.  
“Nice,” Greg said in surprise. “Look at the furniture. You lads are doing well.”  
He was led to a plush leather couch. Sherlock helped him sit. But once he was down he felt his body give out.  
“I’m sleepy.”  
“Greg,” Sherlock called sharply. “Do not fall asleep! You probably have a concussion!”  
Greg starred at Sherlock. Quite confused, he mumbled. “You called me Greg.”  
John sat down on the coffee table in front of Greg. He quickly began a medical examination.  
“Greg,” John said after a few minutes. “Do you have any pain?”  
“Yes. No.” Greg breathed in. “No,” he said firmly. “Chest is tight.”  
“Your oxygen stats are a bit low. I’m going to put you on oxygen. If we can’t get your stats up in thirty minutes, I’m calling an ambulance.”  
Greg didn’t answer.  
He watched John rush out of the flat.  
A moment later, Sherlock arrived from the kitchen with a kitchen towel and a cold pack.  
“This should help,” Sherlock said as he crushed the ice in the pack flattening it.  
Greg watched incredulously as Sherlock saw to his comfort. Helping him off with his coat. Adjusting his pillows. Holding the ice to his head.  
John returned with a small oxygen tank. A canella was placed at his nose and the hose hooked over his ears.  
“Breath deep and slow. You probably have a headache and dizziness. You’ll feel better once your stats go up.”  
Greg concentrated on breathing deeply. The cold pack eased the pain in his head. Slowly, he began to feel more human. His head had less cotton in it.  
“Better?” John asked as he took a measurement with a pulse oximeter and took his blood pressure.  
“Yeah. Chest isn’t as tight. Head still hurts.”  
“You have a concussion.” John took the equipment off of Greg saying, “You look better. Now, tell us what you remember.”  
“I remember you lot. When I left the hospital I couldn’t remember any thing other than getting home to Megan.”  
“You went to the loony bird’s house!” Sherlock demanded. “She’s stabbed you twice!”  
“Sherlock!” John called. “Calm down. He’s confused.” He turned to Greg and asked, “What else?”  
“I don’t remember Sorrells or Anders, but they said they’d bring me here. If I’d been in my right mind I wouldn’t have let two strangers drive me. Then, here I am.” Greg looked at the two men. “They told me that Megan and I divorced.”  
John looked pained but he nodded and said, “Almost ten years ago.”  
“Nine years, eight months, an two weeks,” Sherlock corrected.  
Hesitantly, Greg raised his left hand and showed the expensive ring. “Who am I married to, then?”  
John looked caught and sad.  
Sherlock looked upset. His face scrunched up. But instead of saying something harsh, insulting, or abrasive, Sherlock turned away.  
“I’ll answer your question,” John said. “But first I want to know if you want the shock of getting it all at once or bits and pieces.”  
“Amnesiacs don’t get it all back, do they?”  
“Only in the movies.” John looked away. “Some of this could simply be the accident. You were in a car accident, Greg.”  
Greg looked blankly at John.  
“The accident doesn’t matter. Your life does. Odds are that it’ll take a day or two for you to know exactly how much is gone. You might get back a few memories and impressions. Maybe nothing.”  
“Time will tell,” Greg reasoned.  
“We’ll help,” John added quickly.  
Greg breathed in the plastic scented air. “Can it wait? Just for a bit. I want to take a kip-  
“No,” John said quickly. “You can’t sleep for several hours yet. I know how tired you have to be but we’ll keep you up.”  
“Tea,” Sherlock said. “No. Coffee. You prefer coffee. We still have some, don’t we?”  
“Above the stove,” John confirmed.  
Sherlock rushed out of the living room.  
“John,” Greg said getting the man’s attention. “I know that my head isn’t what it should be, but what is going on with him? Why is he being so nice to me? Am I dying?”  
John smiled. “It’s a long story. You mean a lot to us. Also, I think he feels responsible. You left work early because he called. He wanted files to an old case. He had new thoughts on a serial.”  
“And Sherlock loves his serial killers. I rushed out of my office and wound up in a wreck.”  
“Basically.”  
Greg went quiet.  
And John let him.  
John sat with him until Sherlock dropped a cup. John sighed and went to see what was happening in the kitchen.  
Greg heard the whispers of a hushed discussion. He didn’t make any of it out. But, he knew that it was about him.  
When John exited it was with a hot mug in hand.  
“Milk, two sugars,” John confirmed and handed it to him.  
John sat with his own cup in hand. “When you’re ready. Ask.”  
Greg slowly drank his cup of coffee. He watched John and Sherlock over the rim of his cup. When he was done, Greg set his cup down.  
Again, Greg removed the wedding ring. He looked it over carefully. It felt important, but he couldn’t picture his spouse. Suddenly, he felt stupid and pulled out the wallet again. He had ID’s, one credit card, money, and a worn round indention in the leather.  
“You take your ring off at work,” Sherlock explained.  
“That or I’m playing the field a lot,” Greg corrected.  
“No. I’d have noticed.”  
“What he means to say is that you’re not the type,” John corrected as he gave Sherlock a look.  
It took Sherlock half a second to say, “You’re an adequate husband.”  
“Adequate,” Greg repeated. “High praise coming from you. Maybe one day I’ll be an adequate detective.” Greg threw his wallet on the coffee table. “Someone want to explain why I don’t have a single personal thing in there?”  
“Probably because you got stabbed,” Sherlock volunteered. “Your wallet was stolen. There was a big security issue for a while. I believe you had your security access code written down in it.”  
“So I’m protecting my family.” Greg exhaled. “Now the big question. Who in the world am I married too?”  
Neither man answered. They only stared.  
A moment later they heard the door downstairs open and slam shut. A man yelled out, “Gregory! Sherlock! John!”  
John kept his seat but Sherlock went to the flat’s door.  
John reached out for Greg’s hand and held it tightly.  
Mycroft Holmes practically ran in. His younger brother blocked his path. He whispered at Mycroft holding his shoulders.  
“This makes no bloody sense.” Greg looked at John. “He can’t be.”  
John silently nodded. Gently, he said, “You’ve been together for about eight years. Married for six. You have an anniversary coming up.”  
Greg watched Mycroft Holmes. Greg had never seen the man in any way other than as a superior, and haughty to boot. The man that he remember didn’t get riled up or frightened. In fact, Greg had never seen him express a real emotion in the entire time he’d known him.  
But, this Mycroft Holmes looked disheveled and distraught. Sherlock stood blocking his path, still talking. Mycroft Holmes seemed to be listening but the look in his eyes was haunted. The man stood teary eyed and silent.  
“John?” Greg asked carefully as he watched the man closely. He’d learned over the years that John had a lousy poker face. “Is someone taking the piss?”  
“No,” John said seriously. “This is as real as it gets.”  
Greg didn’t respond.  
Mycroft approached slowly.  
“Gregory,” he said just above a whisper as he sat down next to Greg.  
His knee jerk response was to ask how Mycroft knew his Christian name. Greg opened his mouth but caught himself.  
Greg held his cup out to John and asked, “Can I have another?”  
“Sure,” John said quickly. John got up. “Come help, Sherlock.”  
“Why?” Sherlock asked annoyed.  
As John walked by Sherlock, he took firm hold of the taller man.  
“I’m going to help,” Sherlock said still rubber necking the men on the couch.  
“I went straight to the hospital from the air port but you were gone.”  
“I woke up confused. Still am.” Greg turned to the man and noticed the same ring on his left hand.  
Mycroft didn’t hesitate to remove it and offered it to Greg. He accepted it quietly. But was immediately more interested in the tan line on the man’s finger. He reached for Mycroft’s left hand and studied it. He hand a tan above the wrist. It made the ring’s impression that much more evident. It wasn’t recent. He knew that ring had been there for years, just like his.  
He released the man’s hand and looked inside the ring. Just as he imagined, it was the same inscription, ‘G  & M, Forever.’  
“I assumed it was Greg and Megan.”  
Mycroft hesitated. “You didn’t know it at the time you married, but she is bipolar with manic depressive tendencies. You both divorced. She went through a series of men. She cheated on all. A few beat her. One tried to kill her.”  
Greg turned to see if the man was serious.  
“She always turned to you for help. We got her on meds, which she insists that she doesn’t need once she levels out. And when the demon comes out, she blames you for…everything imaginable.”  
“Your security…Sorrells. He tazed her?”  
“They have orders to subdue her if, and only if, she becomes violent. That usually precedes a trip to a psychiatric facility for a rest.”  
Greg wiped his hand across his face. “Thank God we never had kids.”  
“She can’t.” Mycroft sighed. “She had a hysterectomy before you two met. We found out when she needed emergency surgery after one of her boyfriends beat her quite severely.”  
Greg took a moment. He turned his head away and stared blankly out a window for a while.  
When he was ready, Greg said, “All I remember is being the guy that reports to you about your brother. You don’t even look up from your work when I go to your office.”  
Mycroft fell silent. “Eight and half years ago I found myself in a difficult situation. I had no one to turn too. Sherlock and John were being very closely watched.”  
“You came to me.”  
“I had little choice and no resources to draw on. You went above and beyond.” Mycroft smiled. “I can always count on you.”  
“So we got married?”  
“While we were on our adventure, you propositioned me. I assumed that it was political, ambition, or pity. I wasn’t sure. Later, I came to realize that you don’t play those types of games. I apologized and asked you to dinner.”  
Mycroft shuffled his feet. “You were patient. I wasn’t open to the idea of someone wanting me, for me. You made me feel safe. And now, I get to do that for you.”  
Mycroft turned completely to face Greg. He took Greg’s hand in his and said, “I apologize for all those times that I didn’t see you. For ignoring the most amazing person in my life. For putting on airs and for any time I made you feel small.”  
Something tickled at the back of his mind. “Déjà vu,” Greg said quietly.  
Mycroft smiled completely in joy. “Yes, we did this. Early on. We had to discuss it all. We apologized; we forgave.”  
Greg sat back. He realized that his body was tense. Greg tried to let go of the tension.  
“I’m not going to push.” Mycroft let go of Greg’s hand. “But I’d like very much to help. I gave you my word of honor that I won’t lie to you. If you’d like to check my version of history with John or Sherlock, I will completely understand.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A while after their discussion, Mycroft was called away. John spent a few long minutes reassuring the man that Greg was in good hands. Eventually, Mycroft Holmes left.  
Captain Sorrells reported to their door a few minutes later saying that he was on duty until further notice.  
Sherlock simply sneered, turned to Greg, and assured him that, “This is what he does. Leaves lackey’s behind to make up for his absence.”  
“What Sherlock means,” John said sitting next to Greg, “is that he loves you very much and worries.”  
Greg stared at him. He didn’t think. He said, “You to are so married.”  
John in turned seriously responded, “Of course we are.”  
The mirth melted off of Greg’s face.  
“You don’t remember.” John thought for a moment and then said, “It was your relationship with Mycroft that did it. Sherlock never really saw himself as human being before. Human needs were always beneath him.”  
“Boring,” Sherlock said looking away.  
“But,” John said poignantly. “Once he saw his brother in an actual relationship, something shifted. Suddenly, it was alright to indulge in petty human needs.”  
“I always wondered about you two,” was all Greg said about it.  
Then, it just became sort of normal.  
Sometime later, Greg asked, “Where’s Mrs. Hudson then? She on holiday?”  
Both men went deeply quiet.  
Greg instantly regretted the curiosity.  
“She died,” Sherlock said stiffly.  
“It was a heart attack. Very unexpected. Very quick.” John thought for a moment and added, “She left us the building. You might not have noticed but the down stairs are now my offices. I have a nurse and a nurse practitioner working under me. That way there’s someone always on duty.”  
Greg smiled. “So Sherlock can pull you away at a moments notice on some insane adventure.”  
John smiled. “I’ve written several books based on those adventures, you know?”  
John went to the book shelf.  
Sherlock leaned closer and said, “He’s quite the success. We even went on a book tour. He did the boring bits and I met with the local police to consult.”  
“Yes,” John said as he returned with a stack of hard cover books. “And in the course of a twelve week tour he caused two international incidents, shut down a major airport for five hours, almost got a diplomat consul killed, and almost was deported out of Switzerland. Do you know what it takes to make the Swiss so angry that they want to deport a person?”  
“I was on a case,” Sherlock explained calmly.  
John offered Greg a book saying, “Open the dedication.”  
Greg flipped the book open and read aloud, “To Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade the best police officer in London, and a great brother-in-law. You’ve saved our lives more than once. We love you and always will.”  
He turned to John saying, “That’s real nice.”  
“There’s been a lot of years, Greg. Lot’s of adventures. Lot’s of criminals. But, no matter what, you’re family.”  
“Sentiment,” Sherlock huffed. Then just as seriously, he turned to Greg and asked, “I don’t suppose you held on to the case file that I asked for?”  
“Yes, Sherlock. Right through slamming my head off the dashboard. I stuffed the file away so you wouldn’t get bored. Wait a minute while I pull it out of my arse for you!”  
To his credit, Sherlock laughed.  
They all did.  
They kept going along. Greg got to look through tons of photos. Shared holidays, dinners, outings. Sherlock and John’s wedding pictures. John kept a newspaper clipping scrap book that Greg got to flip through. It was a lot of information at once.  
Finally, around seven in the morning, John took his vitals one last time and announced that Greg could finally sleep. He didn’t hesitate to fall over onto the couch and close his eyes. Greg was instantly and gratefully asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Greg woke up just after midday. Someone was gently smoothing his hair. It felt nice; it was peaceful. He awoke gently.  
Greg opened his eyes to find Mycroft kneeling next to the couch.  
He smiled. “I brought you your shaving kit and a change of clothes. Get cleaned up and come eat.”  
Greg sat up. The pain was almost immediate. His body was sore. Even worse, he still had a headache.  
“John said these would help.”  
He was grateful when Mycroft handed him a glass of water and two tablets.  
Greg stood carefully. He allowed his blood to move through his entire body before taking a step.  
“Thanks,” he said sleepily on his way to the bathroom.  
Greg woke up completely in the shower. It made him feel more alive once he was clean.  
His kit had everything that he needed: an electric shaver, tooth brush, after shave, deodorant. He even found cotton swabs to clean his ears out.  
Changing into his clothes was interesting. He opened the small designer valise and found a lot of nice clothes. The jeans were designer but worn in and comfortable. When he was done getting dressed, he returned to the living room.  
Greg didn’t have a problem smiling and thanking Mycroft for the change of clothes, “I really appreciate it. I feel better now.”  
“Good,” Mycroft said handing him a cup. He picked up a French press. “I thought to bring us some provisions. Your favorite pâté, bread, and a nice stew.”  
Greg was instantly interested. Even if he hadn’t been famished, the coffee smelled amazing. Even more interesting the pâté was sitting in a glass jar with a latch lid. It even had a nice thick layer of fat at the top the way it was supposed to be.  
“Is this…no. It can’t be.”  
“Why can’t it?” Mycroft asked.  
“Momma’s been dead for fifteen years. Uncle Martin’s an asshole. He never would have given me anything. Let alone anything of my mother’s.”  
“Martin Lestrade died seven years ago. True to his nature, he died cursing you. Us. All homo faggots. So on and so forth. But there were no other relatives and more than one neighbor attested to the fact that he was not of sound mind. Legally, the rest was easy.”  
“You got her recipe box?”  
“And ‘we’ also got her antiques, jewelry, albums, and most importantly her ashes.”  
Greg sat heavily and let the tears come. Mycroft walked around so that he could caress his back with one hand, the other he used to pull out a chair. He sat next to Greg and said, “We restored the house but you didn’t want to keep it. We sold it. Immediately after, you wanted to go on a car trip to Banyules.”  
“My mother loved it there.”  
Mycroft smiled. “We bought the chalis where she worked. It’s now our holiday house.”  
Greg’s tears dried up. The smile came. “Thank you.”  
“That was a joint decision. And as I seem to recall, you paid for it with the money from the sale of your uncles abode.”  
A second later, Greg asked, “Is that boeuff Bourguignon?”  
Greg only needed to smell it. He shook his head. “No wonder I’m heavier.”  
“You also work a desk, my love.” Mycroft shrugged. “You make us go on running excursions once a week or so. We eat quite heartily, but quite healthily.” “I can’t believe this,” Greg said spooning up his stew.  
Greg ate to his heart’s content.  
When he was done he wandered back out to the living room and stretched out on the couch.  
Mycroft followed him out and sat in a chair close by. “I’d like to talk.”  
“Yeah. Tired. I don’t know why.”  
“It’s the concussion. You will be tired for a few days.” Mycroft paused. “When you’re done with your nap, I’d very much like to take you home. Our home.”  
Greg had to think about it. “I’m not going to lie to you, Mycroft. A part of me still feels like this is all some kind of a joke. Being here is safe and familiar. But logically, I know that I need to go home if I’m going to get any memories back.”  
Mycroft exhaled. He rubbed his forehead. “I’m glad. I’ll wake you in an hour or so.”  
Mycroft watched his husband drift off to sleep. And, he kept watching.  
Mycroft was sure that he’d lost track of time when Sherlock and John came stomping in loudly, bursting into his thoughts.  
“You’re still here,” Sherlock said surprised.  
John quickly said, “We apologize, Mycroft. We thought you’d be gone by now.”  
“Seeing as how neither of you live here,” Sherlock grumbled.  
Calmly, Mycroft turned and said, “Allow him to sleep in peace for fifteen minutes more and you can scavenge the leftover pâté and boeuff Bourguignon.”  
Sherlock didn’t even respond. He simply ran to the kitchen.  
“And we were going to get take away,” John said shaking his head as he followed his mate.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They were being chauffeured.  
Greg couldn’t hold still. “The house…where we…”  
Mycroft picked up the car phone. “Please pull over. Thank you.”  
Mycroft turned to Greg. “Breathe. Nice and slow. Your hands are shaking. I think your panicking.”  
Greg concentrated on slowing down and getting a hold over himself.  
Out of habit, Mycroft took Greg’s hand in his.  
“I want to tell you a story, if I may. We were still courting. I thought that we were doing well, but one night you decided to break up with me. I was devastated. I asked why, but you didn’t really give me an explanation.”  
Mycroft absently caressed Gregory’s hand.  
“I didn’t want to beg. My pride prevented me from acting. It was Sherlock who stomped into my office, one day and demanded that I take some action. I felt broken but I went to your flat with coffee and we talked.”  
“About what?”  
“At first, not much. But I knew you were hurting too. Finally, you told me about your father, the very wealthy, titled gigolo who impregnated your mother and walked away. He caused problems upon problems for your family. And I’m not him. I’ve spent every moment that we have been together trying to prove that I’m not him.”  
“He tried to take me from momma.”  
“I know.”  
“He made her cry. She had so few years on this earth. She loved him every day, but all he did was make her cry.”  
Gently, he said, “I know. He’s still alive. His children cleaned him out some time ago. They had him declared mentally unfit and took everything. He’s in some rest home waiting to die.”  
Greg didn’t respond.  
Mycroft gently squeezed his hand.  
“Yes,” Greg admitted. “It’s a little overwhelming.”  
“The first time around. I cleaned closet space and a dresser for you. You kept your flat. I gave you a key and your own security code. The flat was still there. I gave you an engagement watch. The flat remained. We married and you still kept it.”  
“Do I still have it?”  
“No. Two months after our wedding you said that you were ready.”  
Mycroft leaned in. “I’d very much like for you to come and see our house. We shall get you a hotel room for a few weeks so you have some where to retreat to and be alone.”  
“I’m sorry.” Were the first words out of his mouth.  
“Don’t be. I know that you need to take this one step at a time.” Mycroft met his eyes. “You’re worth waiting for, Gregory.”  
Mycroft waited until Greg indicated that he was ready. Mycroft called the driver and they began their trip again.  
The trip got worse and worse with every minute. First, they turned off the highway onto a very posh section of London. Greg hoped that they’d keep driving through, but no such luck. They pulled up to a tall, cement privacy fence with wrought iron at the top. The gates opened. The drive up was short. The lawn manicured, flower beds were in full bloom. The house was large enough to be called a mansion. It looked old enough to be turn of the century.  
He stared at it solemnly.  
“It was a wreck when we bought it,” Mycroft confided. “The previous owner was renovating and ran out of money. We couldn’t live here for almost a year.”  
Greg didn’t respond.  
“We picked out every detail together. We agreed on everything.” Mycroft’s face fell. “Almost everything. You insisted on a man cave. I think it’s hideous, but you’re very comfortable there.”  
“I wasn’t going to go in but now I’m curious.”  
Mycroft took Gregory’s hand in his and said, “We have a giant home theatre system with surround sound. I assure you that you’ll love it all the way to that tacky beer bottle chandelier.”  
“Beer bottle chandelier?” Greg licked his lips. “Lead the way.”  
Mycroft led him in saying, “Sometimes I think you agreed to live in this house just so you could hang that ridiculous monstrosity.”  
“You don’t have to sell me on the idea, Mycroft. I already like it.”  
They walked in and Greg exhaled loudly. The entrance was tasteful, expensive, and a museum piece down to the inlaid wooden floor.  
“We agreed on a grand entrance for our guests. My guests. I work at home more often so that we can be together. This is staged for them.”  
Mycroft took him off to one side. He pulled Greg away so he could open a double set of doors saying, “This is ours.”  
The door opened to a big library. The fire place looked as if it was used often. The furniture looked comfortable. There were two desks facing each other sitting in front of a large picture window.  
Mycroft led Greg to a table which held pictures.  
“Photographic evidence, Detective Chief Inspector. I know how much you like that kind of thing.”  
Greg looked at the pictures. Several years and many events spanned the photographs.  
He settled on a wedding picture. The two of them dressed in tuxedos. They were wearing their rings and messily feeding each other cake.  
“It was hot,” Greg said quite sure.  
Mycroft’s face almost split from the smile. He nodded. “The hotel’s heating system wasn’t working properly. It was snowing outside and we were sweating inside.”  
Greg shook his head, but said, “I want to remember, but…  
“You will.”  
Mycroft leaned close as if to kiss him but pulled away. He had an attempt to smile, but finally gave up. “This way.”  
A door from their library connected to another room.  
Greg instantly realized why Mycroft hated it, and it made him smile. There was nothing tasteful and reserved about the room. The entertainment center was big and awe inspiring. A large sectional with built-in recliners faced the enormous screen. The coffee table was a large chrome engine with a piece of glass over the top.  
“Yes,” Mycroft sneered. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Sometimes I think you were testing the limits of my love for you.”  
Greg looked up. “Are those bottles interchangeable?”  
Mycroft sighed dramatically. Under great pain, he admitted, “It’s…were you…put…your…empties.”  
Greg smiled. “That sounds like me. Do I wash them first? There’s a smell. Not a bad smell, but a smell.”  
“That would be the dirt scented candles.” Mycroft smirked a little. “I got you the entire man cave candle collection for our anniversary. Dirt, grass, leather, cigar, mahogany. I believe that one was even called five o’clock shadow.”  
Greg laughed happily.  
“I’m so glad that you are amused by my constant pain. The horrors that I’ve had to-  
“Stop it. You love it. It’s campy and male. And nothing that you say will make a spit of difference.”  
Greg noticed the truck tail gate sticking out of the wall.  
“What’s that?” Greg asked already moving.  
“Of course,” Mycroft sighed. Then he quickly said, “Wait you went to a lot of time and trouble. At least let me show it to you the way you usually show it off.”  
Greg smiled.  
Mycroft moved Greg a step back. Then, Mycroft walked to the wall. Mimicking Greg’s speech and accent, he said, “So I always wanted a 1973 Chevy C-10 just like the one in The Terminator movie. Then I saw this wrecked one at the junker and I had to have her. Chopped this bit off and got me a custom bar.”  
Mycroft flicked a switch and the truck’s backend lit up.  
Greg’s mouth fell open.  
Mycroft pulled the tail gate down revealing a custom bar and Greg was rendered speechless.  
Mycroft walked over and stood besides Greg, he looked at the bar and fondly said, “I hate it most of all.”  
“It’s beautiful,” Greg whispered in hushed tones. “I think I’ll stay married to you just so that I can live with it.”  
“I’m touched by the dept of you emotion, my love.” He nudged Greg’s shoulder with his. “You should rest. Down here. Up stairs. Your choice.”  
Greg reached for Mycroft’s sleeve. He tugged a bit. “Take me to our room. I think I’d like to lay down. I’m actually tired again.”  
“I know. I’ve had a concussion before. You’ll be tired for a few days.”  
Mycroft turned the bar tail lights off and lifted the tailgate into place.  
Mycroft led him out of the room slowly. He pointed out the direction of the kitchen. The dining room and the three bathrooms on the ground floor.  
Greg had to stop at the top of the stairs. After a moment, he was able to keep going.  
Their room was at the end of the hall. Mycroft explained, “We haven’t put in the elevator yet. We thought it would be prudent to have one since we planned on living here into our old age.”  
Greg walked into a room full of cream, beige, and dark wood. He didn’t really notice much else.  
He walked straight to the big bed and fell in.  
Mycroft removed Greg’s shoes and pulled a blanket over him.  
“Rest,” Mycroft said caressing Greg’s foot. “I’m going to work in my office, then I’ll get started on dinner.”  
“Okay,” Greg murmured already starting to drift off. 


	2. MY NEW LIFE OF OLD

Greg woke up feeling groggy and still oddly tired. His head still hurt, but at least it was manageable. Still, he sat up slowly.  
Next to the wedding picture, he found a tall glass of water sitting on his bedside with a little dish holding two pills. There was a little note sitting next to it. In perfect penmanship it read:

>   
>  Take your pills. I’m in the kitchen. Tonight’s menu includes your favorites. Yes. I’m trying to spoil you.  
>  M.  
> 

Greg smiled.  
He took the pills and drank all the water. It tasted nice. Fruity. He felt a little dehydrated so he was glad for it.  
He visited the bathroom and was immediately impressed. He found that their shared ensuite was designed especially for them. His side of the bed lead to his door and directly to his sink and toilet. Greg instantly knew that it was his because the sink top had colorful bottle caps under a resin. And he had a small flat screen in front of the toilet. It idly flashed pictures of Mycroft and he interspersed with pictures of John and Sherlock.   
One door led to a second room with a deep bear claw tub and a glass enclosed shower that looked like a sauna.   
He went back and out through Mycroft’s. His bathroom had a beautiful wooden cabinetry under a modern faucet. Instead of a television he had an oil canvas of a field of flowers. The only real sentiment involved the formal picture frame on his cabinet. It was a posed black and white picture of them kissing. It was romantic and beautiful.   
Greg walked out.  
He wandered down stairs and went in the direction of the music. The sounds of a guitar gently plucking filled the background of the space.   
He found Mycroft in the kitchen.  
He stood at the threshold and just watched. The kitchen was not what he expected at all. The walls were thick and rustic looking. The colors were warm. All of the appliances were state-of-the-art, but it didn’t distract from the homey feel of it.  
Mycroft maneuvered at its center. He noticed quickly that Mycroft’s shoes were off and sitting off to one side. He was wearing a polo shirt and a pair of linen shorts. Long, pale legs extended down to long, elegant looking feet.  
Greg stared amazed at the sight.  
Without looking up, Mycroft said, “You’re just in time.”  
Greg smiled. “How did you do that?”  
Mycroft looked up. He simply said, “Sherlock. You grow eyes in the back of your skull when you grow up with him.”  
Greg walked forwards. He moved to the kitchen counter. “You’re barefoot.”  
Mycroft smile was lopsided. It made him look like a mischievous child. “We fell in love with Italy during a rare year where we wanted something different.”  
“How does a challis in southern France become boring?”  
Mycroft rolled his eyes, and then he hung his head dramatically.  
Greg asked, “Have we had this discussion?”  
“Only five hundred times before that vacation. And then only one hundred or so since when I bring up anywhere else with you.”  
Greg smiled.   
“Mom,” Greg said easily.  
“I know, and thus my status as long suffering spouse.”  
“Long suffering spouse? Yeah, I see it. You are condemned to a vacation in a gorgeous challis in the middle of vineyards, and sun. Taking coffee and croissant’s in the courtyard every morning. Making love in the garden on warm nights. I’ll pick up a sympathy care next time I’m out.”  
Mycroft went quiet as he stared at Greg. Suddenly, he asked, “How do you know we made love in the garden?”  
For a second, Greg wasn’t sure how answer. There were thoughts in his head. He looked at Mycroft and asked, “Sprinklers.”  
Mycroft laughed. “It was a particularly warm night.” Mycroft’s smile was infectious. “You pulled me out of the challis and took me to the garden. You made me shut my eyes. When I opened them I found myself in the center of the garden’s maze, a blanket was on the ground, candles, champagne, strawberries. We made love. We were laying in each other’s arms when the sprinklers came on.”   
Mycroft snickered.   
“I forgot to turn off the timer,” Greg said in wonder.  
“We got soaked. We ran into the challis naked and wet. I never laughed so hard in my life.”  
Greg grinned. He couldn’t remember specifics. But, he could remember the emotion of it.”  
Mycroft walked around the counter. He approached Greg slowly.   
He turned Greg towards him.  
“Take your slippers off,” Mycroft instructed.  
Greg toed off his slippers. He instantly noticed how warm the floor was.  
Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg and pulled him close. He leaned into Greg’s ear and whispered, “Our fourth anniversary, I won the vacation argument and we went to Italy. We rented a beautiful house.”  
Greg closed his eyes. The man’s voice was like liquid silk.  
“We fell in love with the food and the people. The pear and cherry trees were in bloom. We kept all the windows open so we could always smell them. We went for long walks, made love every day.”  
Suddenly, Greg just knew. “We re-did the kitchen. Added heated floors.”  
“To look like our kitchen in Italy, so we had a constant reminder.” Mycroft nuzzled Greg’s ear. “I made your favorite Pappardelle in oxtail ragu with mushroom risotto and peas.” Mycroft pulled away so he could look into Greg’s eyes. “I envy you. Not many people get to experience their favorite foods again for the first time.”  
Greg was sat down. A basket of fresh baked bread sat at the center of the kitchen table. Mycroft brought to the table two plates full of wide pasta, ladled over it was a thick, meaty looking sauce. The smell of beef was strong on it. Greg couldn’t help but put his nose into it.  
“Wow, that’s really beefy.” He could smell the tomatoes in the sauce but they were not overpowering.   
“Not yet,” Mycroft called. He sprinted back to the stove. He spooned a generous heaping of brownish, pea studded risotto into two bowls. He even grated extra cheese over the top.  
Mycroft brought the risotto and set it down between them.  
“Look at all the pretty carbs,” Greg said delighted.  
“I want to watch your face. Tomorrow we’ll work out.”  
Greg was quite sure his husband wasn’t kidding.  
Still, he picked up his fork and wound the pasta carefully. Greg looked up and asked, “Ready?”  
Mycroft smiled. He reached out to hold Greg’s free hand. “Ready.”  
Greg thought it was odd, but allowed it.  
He opened his mouth and tried the pasta. Immediately, he reflexively closed his eyes and breathed in. An intense beef flavor washed over his tongue first. Then came the tomato, herbs, and wine. As soon as he stated chewing the mouth feel of the pasta hit him. It was homemade, thin, and perfect. It carried the sauce and complimented it.  
He looked up meeting Mycroft’s eyes.  
“Ti amo il mio amore,” Mycroft said in perfect Italian.  
Tears came to Greg’s eyes as a shadow of something past filtered through. Only there had been a white table cloth. And red wine.  
Greg swallowed. “There was wine. Red, a Bordeaux with a white and silver label.”  
Mycroft suddenly had tears in his eyes. He sniffed up wetness. “We flew to Italy for our anniversary last year. That’s the wine we had. We ate this meal and talked for hours after. We watched the sun come up sitting on a bridge in Verona.”  
Greg couldn’t picture it. There was nothing in his head, but his hand tightened around Mycroft’s.  
“I’m sorry,” Greg said. “I should remember this. I feel how important it feels, but I don’t…”  
“It’s fine. Don’t get frustrated, Gregory. You’ve already remembered a great deal. At least enough to know that I’ve been telling you the truth.”  
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”  
“Don’t be.” Neither of us has an inherently trusting nature.”   
Greg nodded.  
They continued their meal. It was the best he could remember eating in a long time.  
When they were done, Greg sat back and said, “I married a man who can cook like this. No wonder I’ve put on the pounds.”  
“Gregory.”  
Mycroft’s voice was odd. It was a tone he had never heard before and yet it made a prickle run up Greg’s spine.  
Mycroft hesitated. He pulled out a credit card. “I had Anthea book a hotel room for you.” He put the card on the table and pushed it towards Greg saying, “So you can have a place of your own.”  
Greg didn’t reach for it. “I thought that’s what the man cave was for?”  
Mycroft managed a sad little smile. “The little room of horrors may not be enough.” Breathlessly, he asked, “Would it?”  
Greg thought about it carefully before answering. “If I want to sleep in my man cave-  
“That’s why it’s there, so you can have man time.”  
Greg pushed the card back to Mycroft saying, “I won’t need this. I kind of liked our bed. It was comfortable.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Greg went into work two days later.  
He wasn’t sure if he was ready but he knew that he was bored just sitting at home. His man cave wasn’t that interesting and the telly was still crap. A therapist came to see him so that they could talk. He hated it. His talks with Mycroft were more productive, more intimate. As an added bonus, Greg sometimes got a little memory of an impression of something.  
But, he wasn’t a home body.  
And, he couldn’t hide out waiting for something in his head to suddenly click into place.  
So, he went in.  
Detective Inspector Sally Donovan met him in the lobby. She had two cups in hand, as well as a folder under her arm.   
“Thought you might forget,” she said offering him a cup.  
“Sally-  
“Mycroft called and gave me details. All anyone knows is that you were in an accident and have some memory problems. No one knows just how bad.”  
“Good.”   
Out of habit, he turned towards the elevators.  
“You remember DCI Wingett’s office?”  
“Really?” he said totally surprised. “Wow. That’s a nice piece of real estate.”  
“Your secretary’s name is Dorothy Pope. You can trust her. She’s an old school secretary. The kind that knows how to keep her mouth shut and help you through. To this day she’s never told a soul about Mycroft and you being married.”  
“Am I ashamed?” He asked confused and a bit worried about disrespecting his marriage.  
“Don’t think so,” she responded. “Personally, I think you didn’t want anyone thinking you were sleeping your way up.” She motioned down to his ring. “You also haven’t worn that at work since you got held up. There was a lot there that you didn’t talk about. I always got the impression that someone tried to get into your house, or worse. You were very paranoid there for a while.”  
“I heard about that. I guess it frightened me.”  
“Ever since, when you are out of the office on a case, those military guys in the black unmarked SUV’s show up. We can always tell when your coming ‘cause they show up first. Ear pieces and body armor trying to blend into the background.”  
“I’ll have to talk to Mycroft about that later.” Greg nodded and said, “Alright, tell me about my DI’s.”  
“Most you already know.”   
Sally pulled out the file she’d been holding under her arm. She pulled out two sheets of paper with file face shots of officers, fifteen in all. Names and rank were written down underneath each picture.   
“Memorize,” she stressed to him.  
“Nice one. I also need a break down of all active cases.”  
“I called ahead and had Auburn put a board together. We’re having a department briefing at 0830 hours. The current reports should be on your desk.”  
Greg and Sally stepped off to the usual early morning hustle. The smell of coffee and tea was in the air. Doughnuts and biscuits were being eaten. The cacophony of phones ringing accompanied the controlled chaos. The typing and chatter made him feel instantly at home.   
He was greeted by everyone he passed and he in turn tried to look busy as he sped by with a quick, ‘good morning’ to all.   
Greg only stopped at Dorothy Pope’s desk to say, “Morning. I need to see you, Ms. Pope.”  
She was already up out of her chair with a note pad in hand. “Yes, sir. Good morning.”  
Once the door was closed Greg took her hand in his saying, “Hello. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Pope.”  
She looked shaken and a bit sad. “It’s that bad?”  
“Apparently, I’ve lost eight years. The last two days I’ve remembered a lot of little things, but I’m going to need your help if I’m going to catch up.”  
“Of course, anything I can. What do you need, sir?”  
“Let’s start with personnel files.”  
“Right away,” she said turning away.  
“Ms. Pope,” Greg called before she made it to the door. “No one else knows.”  
She gave him a little smile. “And no one will, but only if you call me Dorothy, love.”  
And she was gone.  
“I think I like her.”  
“She’s been with you since your promotion. So about five years.”  
“So what’s on the board?” he asked sitting down.  
“Straight to business,” she said handing him the file in her hand and sitting in front of his desk. “This is your cheat sheet. Your responsible for the homicide section. You report to Dudley.”  
“Blimey! That idiot’s still here?”  
“He’ll be there till his heart explodes, sir.”  
Greg sat back. “While he’s sitting at his desk with two doughnuts, a pack of biscuits and three cups of sugar in his one cup of tea.”  
“Sounds right.”  
“So I’m doing his job,” Greg reasoned.  
“Last time I checked.”  
“Great,” he groaned.  
“There were seventeen active homicides on the board yesterday morn. I heard we picked up a double last night. Seven have arrests.”  
“And the rest?”  
“It’s been slow. You missed three briefings so far. Dudley showed up for one. He had Reed do the last two meetings.”  
“Who’s Reed?”  
“Senior officer, prick, lazy,” she said dryly.  
“Ah, birds of a feather,”  
“Yes, sir.”  
“Great,” Greg said falling into his chair. He pulled the file close and began reading it.  
“You have thirty five minutes before you’re briefing the section. Remember to mention that vacation requests need to be turned in by Monday. There was another memo.”  
“Right. Thanks Sally.”  
She smiled and left him to it.  
Greg crammed and wrote himself notes for his briefing. He’d attended a thousand briefings and hoped he could bluff his way through this one.  
He walked into their meeting room. The podium he was supposed to preach and dictate from was waiting.   
His hands were sweaty.  
“Alright, you lot,” Greg called out like his old DCI. “Settle in.”  
To his surprise everyone sat down or stood off to the side waiting to hear his every word.  
Greg started his meeting. He sailed through his meeting points without any problems. The two pages with the pictures and names of those present made all the difference.  
He spent most of his day playing catch up. He read through the current case files. He questioned the DI’s and Sergeants on those cases and gave his opinion when he had something helpful to add.   
Before the end of the day two cases were cleared and a suspect on another case was brought in for questioning. Greg considered his day a success.  
He was still at his desk when Dorothy walked in with a hot mug. She put it on his desk saying, “You shouldn’t work late tonight. If you push to hard, it could work against you.”  
He smiled. “I know.” He sat back. “Are you leaving soon?”  
“I don’t live here. I have a home that I’m going to go too in a few.”  
Greg chuckled. “Loud and clear. I just want to know one thing, what was I working on before I left that day?”  
“An old case. You wanted me to fine the case number. You wanted to check it out of the archives yoursefl.”  
“I need that information. I promise I won’t stay late.”  
He was brought a slip of paper with a case number, archive file number, and the names of three victims.  
“I remember this one. It went cold. Is this the one Sherlock wanted to see?”  
She shrugged. “All I can confirm is that I heard you talking to him on your mobile.”  
“Ta, Dorothy. Take off why don’t you.”  
She smiled. “Good night, sir. I’ll see you in the morn.”  
“Night.”  
Greg looked at the mountains of work on his desk. It was slow going because he had to look up his post orders on so many small things. He knew that he had to get into the rhythm of things, but it wouldn’t be today.   
He wanted to get up and leave.  
But something about the slip of paper in his hands nagged at him. His gut twitched. It was never good when that happened.  
Greg got up. He grabbed his coat and turned off his lights. He wanted to make one stop before leaving for home.  
One his way to the archives, he checked his phone. Anthea gave it to him before he left for work. She also had to spend several minutes teaching him how to use it. It was fancy, expensive, and had more bells and whistles than he’d probably every use.  
He flipped to the calendar where Mycroft and his calendar’s had been combined. He’d been told that he could check and extend estimated arrival times. The arrival was for home and Greg was sure to put in a forty-five minute arrival.  
After he checked out what was actually in the file, he wanted to get home. Dinner. Mycroft. Conversation. Maybe some telly.  
It sounded good and relaxing.  
Greg arrived at the sub-basement that served as their records office. The musty smell of paper and mold ever present. He went to the desk and began signing the log book. A thirty something guy he’d never seen before arrived.  
“Hey,” Greg said showing the man the slip of paper. “I need to know where this is?”  
Greg finished writing his inquiry into the log as he heard a keyboard clicking away.  
“These are out, sir.” Then the man elaborated, “To you.”  
“You mean they weren’t returned by the officers that arrived on scene of my accident?”  
“I’ve been here all day. No one’s returned these files.”  
Greg thought quickly. “Give me the shelf reference number and let me in. I want to see the original files myself.”  
“But they’re out.”  
Greg shook his head. “I’d never take the whole thing. It’s against department policy.”  
The guy was slow to move but eventually gave him what he needed written on a slip of paper. The gate buzzed and Greg walked into the stacks.   
Walking in always made him smile. Even that day. Tired as he was, he smiled.  
Twenty five years ago. No. Thirty three years prior, he’d been a unemployed delinquent quickly on his way to a cell of his own. He’d been seventeen and clueless. His mother argued, complained, and nagged until he’d applied for the job of assistant file clerk with the city. It landed him right there in the sub-basement. At first it was just to shut the woman up. Then, it was just a job to pay for beer. Four years later, it became a stepping stone to the academy. His momma lived just long enough to see Greg wear blue.   
Now, thirty three years later, he felt rather triumphant as he strolled through the stacks as a DCI.  
He remained triumphant and light, right until he reached the right shelf. Right where the files should have been, he found a hole. In a panic, Greg began scanning each file in the section hoping to find that it had been misfiled.  
It had to be misfiled because he knew better than to take out the main file on an open case. He would never break chain-of-custody, even for Sherlock. A copy was one thing, taking the official file with the original signed witness statements was something entirely different.  
That’s where he was when an arm circled around his waist and he was kissed on the side of his neck. Instinctively, Greg pulled away and took a few quick steps back until his back hit the stacks.  
The guy from the front desk was standing there. He smiled and said, “Greg? I missed you.”  
“What?”  
The guy reached up to touch Greg’s bruises. Greg pulled away.  
“They said you were in an accident. Is that why you didn’t meet me? I waited for you.”  
For a bright, awful moment, Greg felt his chest get tight. A sudden sickness came up his throat.  
He shook his head and walked away. The walking quickly turned into running. He didn’t stop until he reached his car. Mycroft’s car. With the doors locked, behind the dark tinted windows, he began to cry.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He waited until he was calm enough to drive. He should have been surprised how short a time he actually needed to recover. He should have been, but he wasn’t. As soon as his eyes were dry, he drove home.  
Greg made it as far as his man cave.  
He dropped onto the couch and drifted into his head. Try as he might he couldn’t remember the affair. All he could remember was Mycroft. His only other thoughts were of Megan and how he had felt when he’d found out about her cheating.  
No more than ten or fifteen minutes later, he heard Mycroft calling out to him. The man cave door opened soon and Mycroft walked in.   
The man’s smile melted away when he saw Greg.  
“Darling?”  
“I need you to hold me, baby. Please, hold me.”  
Mycroft responded immediately.  
Greg was wrapped up in the man’s arms. Protected completely. He leaned in and inhaled deeply. He wanted to memorize the man whom he could only remember in snatches.  
“I’m sorry that I didn’t take you upstairs last night and make love to you. You’ve been so good to me. All I’ve given you is suspicion and frigidity in return.”  
“That’s ridiculous. What is it? Did something happen at work? You’ll get better, Gregory.”  
Greg shook his head. “I have good people. I managed. At least I did until I got to the archive.”  
Greg hung his head. He didn’t want too. But he was sure that if he didn’t know yet, it was only a matter of time.  
“I don’t know who he is or even his name. A man approached me. Kissed me and insinuated that we were lovers.”  
Mycroft went quiet. He watched Greg carefully as his mind raced. Greg could actually hear it ticking along.  
It didn’t take long for Mycroft’s brows to furrow. “This makes no sense.”  
Mycroft got up.  
Greg’s eyes filled with tears as he watched the man pace back and forth.  
Finally, he turned to Greg.   
Greg held his breath.  
“With what money? I’ve investigated many a fraud, charlatan, and cad. You can always tell what a person does by following their money. Your spending habits are predictable and you only use your debit. I meet with our accountant monthly.”  
Solemnly, Greg admitted, “I had a lot of cash in my wallet.”  
“It was the first of the month. You always take out 1000 pounds to pay Megan’s rent.” Mycroft cocked his head and offered, “Perhaps it was a joke?”  
“Putting salt in the sugar bowl is a joke.” Greg sniffed. “I need to be sure. Please investigate. I’m giving you permission to check my financials, work life, friends. And especially that guy in the archives.”  
“Gregory-  
“I can’t do it,” he stated. “I can’t pretend that it’s alright if it isn’t. I did that once already and I was miserable.”  
“Alright,” Mycroft said taking Greg in his arms. “If you need proof of what I already know then we’ll do this.” Mycroft stroked Greg’s hair saying, “I know what I have. I know we are happy together.”  
“Have you ever cheated on me?”  
“No,” Mycroft said quickly. “But I will admit to having my head turned one or twice.”  
“Did you ever notice…anything?”  
“Yes,” Mycroft said pleasantly. “There aren’t many men that you’re attracted too. There was one. I suppose he liked to flirt with the older, silver haired DI. You usually came home in a very chipper mood. It was quite good for our sex life. You told me about it. After a while I had him transferred to another department. It was best.”  
Greg said nothing.  
“I’ve never worried. If you need an investigation, then we’ll investigate…together. It’s good for couples to do activities together. Common goals and all that.”  
Greg reached for Mycroft’s hand. He held it tightly. “I want to start over. I don’t know what I did or why, but I will be a good husband to you.”  
Greg got down on his knees and said, “You’re a beautiful man, inside and out. I want to be here. I want to share this life with you. I can’t change the past but I can make a better future. I want it to be with you, Mycroft Holmes. Will you have me?”  
Mycroft gently stroked Greg’s hair.  
“The day we were married, I said for better or worse. I meant it. I know that I married a good man. I’m going to show you how good.”  
Mycroft raised Greg’s hand to his lips and kissed it.  
“I’m going to rip your life apart,” Mycroft promised. “No stone will be left unturned. This person in the archives will be truly sorry that he ever opened his mouth.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That night Greg laid back in bed. He’d found a book on his night stand. It was interesting and a good read, but he couldn’t concentrate. He put it back on the night stand.  
“I told you to use your reading glasses. You’ll get a headache otherwise.”  
He couldn’t help the embarrassment. “Yes, my secretary already read me the riot act. Apparently, I become tense and difficult when those headaches strike.”  
“You do,” Mycroft said shifting a paper. His bed tray served as a desk and was full of paperwork, all of it Greg related. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You need them to read. And, they look sexy on you.”  
Greg turned away with a nod but didn’t respond.   
Mycroft’s phone chirped an alert. He checked it and responded via text.  
“Is that Sherlock?” Greg asked a bit amused that he could tell.  
Mycroft smirked. “I’m unleashing him on Mr. Archives.”  
“ _If_ he’s interested.”  
“I included John in the request. He’s assured me that they will be there tomorrow as I let slip the dogs of war.”  
Mycroft put his phone down on his night stand. He gathered up the papers on his little desk and then got up with everything in hand. He moved his little desk to a small side table.  
When Mycroft returned he removed his reading glasses and set them on his night stand. He removed his silk robe and set it aside. He stepped out of his slippers and pulled the bed sheets back.  
As he got into bed Mycroft said, “Lay back. I want to suck you off.”  
“What,” Greg said dumbly.  
“You’re worried and stressed. We both know that you’re going to keep yourself up all night as this demon screams in your skull.” Mycroft pulled the sheets back away from Greg. “Let me do this. In ten minutes I can guarantee that we will both be able to sleep quite soundly.”  
“My…what if-  
“Stop,” Mycroft leaned in close and kissed his bottom lip. “I know my husband’s body. I know what he likes. Just trust me enough to pull these down.”   
Awkwardly, Greg admitted, “I’m not sure how to reciprocate.”  
Mycroft smiled. “I get to enjoy your virginity a second time.” Quite happily, he said, “Strip. I want complete access.”  
Greg felt his cock twitch. He’d never seen that look on Mycroft. In that moment, he seemed a little less than controlled Mycroft and more…dirty.  
Greg pulled his tee over his head. He hesitated a moment when he reached down for his bottoms. Mycroft was staring intently. Greg suddenly wished that he had the leaner, stronger, forty something body.  
“The first time,” Mycroft said running his finger down Greg’s chest. “We came back from a date and didn’t want to part. I asked you in.”  
Mycroft glided down over his now too pudgy stomach. “You were all I could think about. You told me you weren’t ready for penetration.”  
Mycroft carded his fingers through Greg’s bristly pubic hair. His precisely manicured fingernails scratched his pubic in a way that made Greg bit his lip as his cock began to fill.  
“I asked you what you were ready for. You admitted just how much you enjoyed oral sex.”  
Mycroft stroked up his cock twisting at the end. Greg grabbed a handful of the bed sheets. A part of him was surprised that the man knew his favorite move. Mycroft did it again and Greg moaned.  
“I sat you on the couch and sucked you quite happily. I heard no complaints.”  
With those words, Mycroft settled himself down between Greg’s splayed legs. Once he was comfortable, he took Greg in hand again. The moment Mycroft’s eager mouth went down Greg’s mind shut down. Mycroft quickly began coordinating his mouth and his hands at the same time.  
It was a symphony of beauty. Greg was quickly in orbit as Mycroft’s tongue, lips, and hands worked in unison to make Greg’s eyes roll into the back of his skull.  
Greg wanted to shout thanks and encouragement as he rode the wave but found that he couldn’t bark out any thing coherent. He grunted animal noises. His body stiffened as Mycroft began playing with his ball sack. Greg reached down for a fist full of Mycroft’s hair.  
The man sucked as he pulled gently on his balls. The other hand gently twisted the lower part of his cock.   
Greg howled. A few sucks later, he spilled between Mycroft’s elegant lips. Mycroft sucked down every drop. A moment later, Greg heard Mycroft come. Wetness coated Greg’s calf.   
Greg lay too stupid to move. His eyes grew heavy. He fell asleep to the sensation of Mycroft licking him clean.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Greg and Mycroft road into work together. Greg couldn’t be certain, but he was reasonably sure that this would be the first time anyone from his office would meet his spouse.  
Greg walked in with Mycroft. Anthea met them in the lobby.   
They went straight to Dorothy’s desk. “Mycroft Holmes please meet my work wife, Dorothy Pope. Dorothy this is Mycroft-  
“Ah,” she squealed and rushed to embrace Mycroft. When she pulled away it was to say, “It’s so nice to finally put a face to the name. Such a thoughtful man. You give the nicest gifts.”   
“My dear, it’s a pleasure. You take such good care of my Gregory. I assure you that you deserve far more.” Mycroft turned to Anthea. “I trust you remember my P.A., Anthea.”  
Anthea received a hug and was talked too for some time.  
“I want to introduce you to Donovan.”  
“Lead the way.”  
Mycroft followed him to the floor where Donovan was speaking with another DI.  
Greg walked up and said, “Got a minute. I want to introduce you to-  
“Mycroft Holmes,” Sally said holding out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”   
Mycroft shook her hand saying, “Detective Inspector Donovan. I must say that I’ve followed your career with some satisfaction. You’ve quite the arrest record.”  
She blushed. In all the years they’d worked together Greg was sure he’d never seen her blush.  
Later during the morning briefing Greg could already hear the murmuring and gossip flying about.  
“Settle down, you lot!” Greg barked. “I know what a bunch of nosy home bodies you lot are so let me save you all the trouble of going through the rubbish bins.” Greg reached over for Mycroft’s hand and pulled him a little closer. “This is my husband, Mycroft Holmes. Today he’s conducting an investigation and everyone here _‘will’_ cooperate. You’re not going to like this. You fill find it intrusive. Fair warning, Mycroft is Sherlock’s brother.”  
There were groans and few nasty mumbles.  
“Don’t worry. He’s much more discreet than Sherlock.  
Dimmock quickly stood and asked, “Is this about your accident, sir? Shouldn’t we investigate an attempted murder?”  
Greg hesitated which gave Dimmock the opportunity to ask, “Well, he works for Transportation doesn’t he? He’s not a copper!”  
“You’re all nosy, relentless, and can’t leave anything alone! This is what makes you lot the best! Also, anyone that hasn’t turned in your vacation forms by today, you’re not getting one. As for assignments,” Greg pulled out his notes and went down the list easily avoiding answering any uneasy questions several times.  
“Nicely avoided,” Mycroft said as they walked out.  
“We’re having lunch together today,” Greg said easily. He hated the idea of parting from his partner. After last night, Greg wanted to wrap himself in Mycroft and never let go.  
“We are. I’m having lunch catered for all. A preemptive apology.” Mycroft hung his umbrella on his arm so he could fix Greg’s tie. “I’m starting with the two idiot PC’s that were first on the scene of your accident.”  
“So that why they think-  
“Plausible deniability. Attempted murder of a DCI is a serious situation. And I have two nervous PC’s waiting for me.” Mycroft started walking away.  
“Good. Find out what they did with the files that were in my car,” Greg called.  
Mycroft stopped and turned.  
“I was taking a copy to Sherlock. That’s why I went to the archive yesterday. Couldn’t find it.”  
Mycroft nodded.  
Greg watched him walk away and hated being away from the man.  
Greg returned to his office. He dutifully put on his reading glasses and went to work.  
An hour or so later Donovan walked in.  
“Sir, the freak is at it.”  
“Where?”  
“Archives. I’ve gotten two complaints so far.”  
“It’s fine. He’s supposed to be down there shaking things up.”  
She looked doubtful.  
She also didn’t leave.  
“These interviews,” she asked. “What’s really going on?”  
“Have you ever…seen me act weird. Like if I was shagging someone else?”  
“What?”  
“Come on. We spend more time together than we do with anyone else. You’d know.”  
“Are you taking the piss?”  
“Sally,” he said seriously in that tone.  
She looked a bit incredulous but as she studied his face she grew serious. Finally, she said, “No. Seen you flirt a few. Nothing else. Since you took up with him you’ve been settled, and happy. Good knows your wardrobe improved by leaps and bounds.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The interviews were neither extensive nor did they involve everyone. Mycroft pulled a few people based on several factors: age, build, and strange or unexplained spending patters. Mycroft sat across from them watching every action and reaction however small. He interpreted every word used and scanned all body language. The questions were inconsequential, it was the reaction that he was interested in.   
The caterers arrived at 1130 hours. They set up a coffee and tea bar with properly made offerings. They had boxed sandwiches and salads. There was even a selection of pastries to choose from. Everyone was quite happy.  
Greg and Mycroft had lunch in his office. Greg’s office was just big enough to have a small meeting table by the windows. They had grilled chicken topped salads and hot tea.  
Greg first question was, “Well?”  
Mycroft said, “Several of your officers have dipped their proverbial nib in the office ink well, but I’m sure you weren’t involved. One had odd amounts of money going in and out of his bank accounts. I’m quite sure that he had a gambling problem.”  
“Dimmock,” Greg replied. “He got help after his wife left him. He’s in recovery but there is no trip to Las Vegas in his future.”  
“Other than that, your staff if clean.” Mycroft took a sip from his mug. “There was something strange though. The file that you were delivering, both PC’s swear that there was no file. No papers, either in your car or on the street. One of them recognized you and had the presence of mind to take pictures with this phone.”  
Greg was already thinking. “Witness statements?”  
“Hit and run. One of the witnesses saw the culprit stop and attempt to help.”  
“Or steal. I had my wallet and ring. You think they did it just for that file?”  
“Or, they thought that it was a similar file. Were you working on anything important, sensitive, or controversial?”  
“The only time I step in is when it’s something big. Nothing like that in weeks, when the Duke’s son was killed.”  
“I remember. I’m surprised you do.”  
Greg caught himself and grinned. Then it faded again. “Mycroft I got that file from the archive.”  
“And that’s where your fake lover and Sherlock are.”  
“Blimey! Greg growled as he shot up and out of his office.  
“I need back up in the archives!” Greg shouted as they ran towards the stairs.  
As they ran down the five flights, Greg pulled his radio. He instructed the building security to shut it down, they had a situation in the sub-basement archives. Back up was needed.   
As they continued down, they heard the sounds of others responding. A door slamming into a wall. More than one set of footfalls ran into the stairwell. There was running down ahead of them.  
When they got to the sub-basement level, Greg burst out of the door and ran at a full sprint.  
He pushed through the double swing doors as he ran in. The cage door that protected the stacks from the outside was open. He rushed in to find John on the ground bleeding from his shoulder. A PC was already on him pressing down on the wound. The other was curled up on the ground.   
“Sher!” John managed to growl.  
Greg ran as fast and as hard as his fifty four year old, works-behind-a-desk legs could take him. Instinctively, he ran back towards the area in the stacks where he’d been the previous day. He heard the fight before he ever saw it.   
Greg rounded a corner and ran down a long row. He knew that the struggle was happening one row over towards the end.  
He rounded the corner almost out of control. Just in time to see the suspect punch Sherlock’s face. Greg ran towards the man and threw himself at the man tackling him low. He hit with his shoulder and then felt the topple of boxes around them as he fell hard into the concrete wall just behind those boxes.  
Gregory was momentarily dazed.  
When he opened his eyes there was a man holding a gun to his head. Greg knew the look. It was cold and empty. He was sure that he was about to die.  
A second later, the man smirked. And, an umbrella swept up. The gun fired harmlessly striking elsewhere. Sherlock attacked the man next.  
Greg struggled to get up but couldn’t do so quickly. Pain shot up his shoulder slowing him considerably.  
Greg watched as Sherlock kicked the back of the man’s knee. Mycroft sent a man jab and uppercut combination. The man fell over where Sherlock was able to get a pressure hold on the man’s arm.  
“Let go!” Sherlock growled at the man.   
Mycroft dove for the weapon wrapping his hand tightly around the muzzle securing the slide in place, keeping the mechanism from firing. Mycroft twisted the gun back over the man’s hand until he couldn’t hold it.  
“It’s loaded,” Mycroft said handing off the gun to the first DI that arrived. Mycroft turned away so he could help Greg the rest of the way to his feet.  
Mycroft was still panting. “Remind me,” he huffed. “Never to complain about our runs together.”  
Greg pulled him close. “You saved me, My.”  
“If you two are quite done,” Sherlock demanded as he stepped away from the suspect.   
Two DI’s had their weapons drawn and were in the process of arresting the man.   
“This is him. He’s the serial killer. I knew something wasn’t,” Sherlock stopped suddenly. Then his eyes bulged wide. “John!” he shouted and then he was running.  
Mycroft and he were running again too. When they got to the front they found Sherlock kneeling over John.   
The PC laying nearby was still alive. His leg shot, bound with a leather belt, and bloody. He was being kept calm by his fellow officers.  
“Stupid! Stupid! Why did you do that? He could have killed you!”  
“He could have killed _you_ ,” John shot back, teeth gritted, clearly in pain.  
“Ambulance?” Greg demanded at his people.  
“On the way,” Donovan responded as she rounded the archive desk with a first aid kit in hand. “Two more dead bodies in the back. Looks like he killed his co-workers.”  
She knelt and opened the box.  
“I can do it,” Sherlock demanded with tears in his eyes.  
“Your emotional,” she barked back. “Let me help.”  
She handed him gloves as she pulled out and opened sterile gauze.   
“Bullet’s still inside,” John hissed. “Pack gauze into the hole. Bind it tight to stop…blood.”  
Greg immediately barked orders to clear boxes out of the way for the paramedics. His officers responded immediately, just to have something to do.   
Mycroft put his hand on Greg’s shoulder. He winced and moved away.  
“Greg?”  
“It’s not bad.”  
Just then he heard his officers walking back with the prisoner. Grateful, Greg moved away. He walked back meeting them before they walked too close to the scene at the front.  
“Hold him here. Four officers at all times. Do not take him out of the camera shot. This is strictly by the book. This tit’s a serial; killed a least three.”  
“That you know of, Greg.” The man said happily. “Is that faggot dead yet?”  
“Hold him on the attempted murder of Dr. John Watson. We’ll add too the charges later.” Greg clearly informed the man, “You’re not walking away on a technicality.”  
“No, I’ll walk because there’s no evidence. The cameras at the front don’t work at the moment. It’s your word against mine. That gun was planted on me by the coppers. You beat me for no reason. I’m gonna sue.”  
“Don’t listen. Don’t engage. Or, it’s your bleeding arses!” And then Greg walked back.  
He found John on a stretcher. There was an oxygen mask on his face and an IV was already flowing into his arm. Emergency equipment was already connected. A moment later, John was pushed out with Sherlock on their heels.  
“Greg,” Mycroft said very calmly.  
“My,” Greg said in an exhale. He already knew the argument that was coming.  
“Sir,” Donovan said removing her bloody gloves. “I’ve got it. You’re a witness and a possible victim. You can’t be here. Excuse yourself to the emergency room for treatment. I will handle it.”  
Mycroft placed a gentle hand on Greg’s lower back saying, “My hand really hurts.”  
“That’s cheap, cheap blow, love of my life. Guilt is beneath you.” Greg sighed. “And someone will need to keep the medical people from killing Sherlock.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They got home late from the hospital. They didn’t even have dinner. They each took a pain killer and stretched out in bed with strategically placed ice packs.  
Mycroft’s hand was in a soft cast. It was sprained but not broken.  
Greg was bruised up. He was sore, but that’s as far as it went.   
The doctor raised a fuss about hitting his head against a concrete wall so soon after a concussion. Mycroft wasn’t happy with the knot on Greg’s head. Overall, Greg didn’t see the big deal. He wasn’t dizzy and he remembered Mycroft just fine.  
He snuggled in next to Mycroft on the side that didn’t hurt and finally allowed his body to relax.   
They’d been at the hospital for hours. John had needed surgery and blood. The bullet had been removed and the damaged artery fixed. Once John had been safely delivered from recovery to his room, Mycroft and Greg prepared to go.   
First, Greg had asked the nurses for a lounge chair. He knew that Sherlock wouldn’t leave John. And the hard plastic chairs in the room weren’t suitable for sleep. Sherlock confiscated a lounge chair the moment it was placed next to John’s bed. He had settled in and Greg threw a blanket over him so that he could rest.  
Mycroft had even kissed Sherlock’s hair before they left.   
“My?”  
“Ugh.”  
“Do you think it would be too much of a bother to ask Anthea to deliver a proper breakfast to the lads?”  
“I already made the call.” Mycroft didn’t even bother opening his eyes. “Tea, biscuits, and actually food. I now just how dreadful those hospital trays can be.”  
“You’re amazing.”  
“Get some sleep. Tomorrow you’re going to take a nice sauna and then an ice bath.”  
“Only if you do.”  
Mycroft moved over so that they were touching the warmth of him instantly penetrating Greg’s skin.  
“I’m staying home with you tomorrow so we can recover.”  
“By recover you mean sex, right?”  
“Only if it’s conducive to recovery.”  
Greg reached out and rubbed Mycroft’s chest. “I’ll make you feel better.”  
“Tomorrow,” Mycroft whispered.  
Greg listened to the man breathe. By listening alone he could tell that he had drifted off.   
Greg smiled.  
“I remember this,” Greg whispered. “Your breathing. I remember watching you sleep.” Greg reached up and stroked the man’s face. “You’re stuck with me, love.”  
Greg smiled and closed his eyes. He allowed himself to drift off.

Fin.


End file.
